


Through Tempered Glass

by SynapticFirefly



Series: Mirror, Mirror Verse [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bottom!Cartman, Drama, M/M, Mirror Universe, Swearing, Teen Romance, Violence, top!kyle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynapticFirefly/pseuds/SynapticFirefly
Summary: Kyle Broflovski navigates through a hellish, unforgiving world where evil is rewarded and weakness drives you to an early grave. Eric Cartman takes the wheel on the way there.





	1. The First Knell

“Dad, why did you marry mom?”

Gerald looked down at his son, who was no older than four, but genetics served him well. Kyle was already creating a wide berth from his new classmates who took his green-eyed scowl like the second coming of Satan. It did him proud, but it made him prouder to find that Kyle had developed an acute intelligence that will give him an edge in the future. A deadly combatant with the mind of a genius. He was going to rule this town one day.

He said none of those things. A giant ego was a terrible burden on any toddler. “Why do you ask?”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Kenny’s dad called her a fat bitch so I stuck a match in his gas tank.”

“That certainly explains things.” When he picked Kyle up from preschool yesterday, Stuart had been stranded on the road hopping and snarling at his burnt down husk of his once expensive Aston Martin. “Your mother’s fierce, Kyle.”

“If she lost weight, they wouldn’t be insulting her.” Ever a truthful toddler, Kyle’s words stung. If he wasn’t his son, he would have grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and tossed him hard into the nearby dumpster.

Glad that Sheila was busy up in Town Hall wrangling a vicious Canadian baby for their own, Gerald waited for most of the parents to head off with their children before answering. “Your mother’s heavy, but that’s to her advantage.” He had seen first hand how Sheila would put her enemies six feet under thanks to her size. “Besides, I think she’s beautiful they way she is. Don’t you?”

Kyle, bless his young dark heart, seemed to absorb his question maturefully. “Her hugs are better than Mrs. Marsh’s.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He wasn’t inclined to go down that road about Sharon. That was another story, for another time, for someone other than his son. “Your mom’s the perfect wife, Kyle. She’s strong, she’s passionate, and she takes good care of her family.”

The perfect wife. Kyle’s brow furrowed with this information. “So my future wife should be like mom.”

“So long as it’s not actually your mom, then yeah.” There was a warning there, even against his own son. This was a twisted, demented universe. Anything was fair game at this point.

Fortunately, Kyle’s nose was the next to wrinkle and Gerald visibly relaxed.

“Morning Kahl!”

Both Broflovski’s turned and found a tiny little plump kid eagerly waving and smiling at Kyle. His mother, Liane, hovered much closer to him than was healthy. But Gerald had heard things about Liane’s bastard child and knew exactly why she was fiercely shadowing her son’s steps.

There was something wrong with little Eric Cartman. Very wrong. Bordering on mental problems. He smiled more than any other child and trusted far too much. How he survived the last four years was a miracle in itself.

Kyle squared his shoulders back and sneered threateningly at Eric. “Go away, you freak!”

Eric’s smile went out like a light. But instead of scowling back and snarling like any other normal child, he was on the verge of tears. Liane sighed apologetically at them and tried to shush and steer Eric to their shared classroom.

To Gerald’s surprise, he looked down and found his son’s frown sharper than ever, his gaze hard on the ground. He was focusing inward, almost in guilt.

“He’s a wimp,” Kyle said tightly.

“Yes he is,” Gerald agreed.

“Even Trent Boyett gangs up on him and he’s a coward,” his son continued angrily. “But Cartman just laughs it off and walks away. Even when I pushed him into the mud yesterday.”

Definitely mentally disturbed, that one. Before Gerald could comment, his son hissed at the concrete.

“I hate him.”

Silence. “His mother’s not there all the time,” Gerald finally said. “If you hate him so much, just kill him.”

It was really a simple solution freely given. And Kyle was never one to ignore his father’s sagely advice.

* * *

Kyle ignored Miss Claridge’s finger-painting activity to talk stratagem with his new best friend Stan, who proved his salt by nearly lighting their teacher on fire to free the class hamster. They fashioned colorful Legos together in a shabby formation of the school’s courtyard and worked on how best to destabilize the first graders’ claim on the swings.

Stan preferred sabotage, but Kyle preferred a straight up ass whooping. Kenny was supposed to be the deciding vote, but he was too busy trying to look up skirts. Their argument was quickly reaching to the point where they were eyeing the blunt ends of the paintbrushes to settle things the easy way.

 _Killing Stan is very unfortunate,_ Kyle thought, _but necessary._

There was a movement in Kyle’s peripheral vision and, for some strange reason, he always seemed to zero in on Eric, as if waiting for a trap to be sprung on him. In the past few months, Kyle seriously thought Eric was putting up an innocent act on purpose, but the more he interacted with the chubby boy, the more it horrified him. No one was that good of an actor.

While everyone was attacking each other with paint and hair pulling, Eric was blissfully humming to himself and painting a picture of frog with his fingers as directed. There was a brightness in his blue eyes that was really unsettling. Kyle couldn’t help but try and wipe that blinding light from existence.

“Hey, freak!”

Eric paused, sat up and jutted out his bottom lip. “I’m not a freak, Kahl,” he whimpered.

“You’re not just a freak, you’re a fat freak!” Stan barked tauntingly. “Fatso!” He yelped in alarm when Kyle suddenly shoved him so hard, he fell on the Legos and howled in pain. “Asshole! What was that for?!”

Kyle didn’t know why he did it, but he remembered how Kenny’s dad called his mother fat and it set him off. Before he could properly figure out what the hell was wrong with him, Stan scrambled up and tackled him to the play mat to rightfully wail on him.

Miss Claridge glanced at them once, then returned to her magazine. Eric surged up to his feet and try valiantly to pull Stan off of Kyle. “Stop! Don’t fight! Why are you fighting?!”

They were four years old so of course they completely forgot why they were fighting in the first place. Butters kept egging the fight on halfway across the room, but Kenny decided that enough was enough when they started bleeding over it. He shoved Eric aside to properly wrench Stan off. Eric recovered quick and tried to haul a spitting Kyle off instead.

He hugged Kyle tightly from behind. “Stan’s your best friend! Won’t you be sad if he’s not around anymore?!”

Kyle stilled, but not over Eric’s horrible, sappy speech. For a second, he was reminded of how Sheila would scoop him up from a tantrum and hold him nice and tight until he stopped squirming. Her heavy embrace was always a comfort.

Kenny squinted at Kyle, who’s infamous Jersey rage quelled almost instantly under Eric’s grip. “Dude.”

“Get off!” Kyle growled, wrenching himself away from Eric’s touch. His cheeks were aflame from embarrassment because it was such an insult to compare his mother - passionate and strong - to a weak pathetic failure like…

His father was right. Eric Cartman had to die. 

* * *

When Kyle woke up from his nap, he was fifteen and trudging along on a school bus for a field trip halfway to Denver. He unfolded his arms, which hid a small knife under a sleeve, because for someone like him, he couldn’t afford to properly sleep; only the illusion of it. His paranoia was pretty low today, mostly because the seats around him were filled with his ginger student minions, but he was never truly safe with them.

Eric’s head lightly bumped his shoulder after a particularly nasty speed bump. The fat bastard took like two-thirds of the seat at this point and had no problem rubbing his cheek along Kyle’s expensive jacket and smiling blissfully in his sleep. He was heavy, but it was comforting. There was that unguarded kind of shit about Eric that made Kyle’s skin crawl, but at the same time it made him fiercely protective about it.

If Stan had a hard-on for innocent animals, maybe he wasn’t so different from Kyle, who preferred a bigger, more innocent beast.

And Eric Cartman was no beast. Not on the inside. It was almost an insult.

Speaking of - Kyle’s lieutenant wasn’t too far at the front of the bus and talking smack to Craig, who they just recently formed a tentative truce so they could focus their energies on the twelfth graders. Craig was a fucking soldier who used his words when they mattered and didn’t waste it on trivial shit. His boyfriend was different, almost unsettling calm - the Tweaks had the drug trade pretty fucking handled and it was no surprise they kept all that top quality shit to themselves. Tweek on the family dose was so fucking unsettled and jittery, Kyle wrote him off as someone they could drop off at a gorilla exhibit and no one could tell the difference.

Of course, that too was all a ruse. Craig may be the stoic face of the gang, but Tweek was the one who fucking ran it.

Kyle always kept a special eye on them. Jimmy was pretty much their in-between man because Craig was a fucking wall that Kyle could barely get a word in edgewise and whenever he tried to talk shop to Tweek, he was as high as a fucking kite; that in itself was a security risk.

They were also why he couldn’t get a fucking wink of actual sleep. Too many rivals around out to get him, out to get Eric-

His hand fell on top of Eric’s thigh, absently stroking it. Their relationship just wasn’t healthy. Eric was so sweet and innocent it just wasn’t a good fit. But for some reason he made Kyle’s mouth water and it invoked the worst of his protective instincts.

Which really fucking sucked. Eric was a boy to start with. That means no kids to pop out, but boy did Eric have the proper hips for them. His parents’ disapproval went through the roof when Kyle expressed his disinterest for Amanda Rosenstein, who was beautiful and perfect and came from one of the most affluent Jewish families in Colorado. It was borderline scandalous that he had vested interest in Liane Cartman’s bastard son, who was doubly socially inept to deal with the ruthlessness of society. Actually, he still had no idea why he traded up Amanda for Eric. But he was a man of impulse and the second he decided that Eric was his all those years ago, even his parents were hard pressed to stop him.

“Mmm… Kahl…” Eric murmured, shifting flush against Kyle’s side as he continued to stroke his thigh. So soft and keen, but Kyle wasn’t allowed to bed him yet. Eric was too uncomfortable for that.

Unless he was prompted. Kenny took pity on him at one point and just urged him to corner Eric and have his way with him. Eric wouldn’t say no to Kyle. He never could.

Kyle snarled to himself. And _that_ was the fucking problem. It felt like a fucking waste following Kenny’s advice. What was the point of it if Eric didn’t really want to?

So that was his teenage conundrum: murder, turf wars, and a heavy set of blue balls. He really brought this on himself.

His father asked him why. _Why Eric?_

 _"Because he’s a fat bitch and gives good hugs,”_ Kyle had grinned nastily at him. _“What’s your excuse?”_

Kyle’s thoughts were disrupted when Eric suddenly slid off his shoulder and fell onto his lap, grumbling something foul about church and angels. Kyle was unnaturally still at this point, not trusting himself with Eric’s cheek practically smooshed into his crotch. And when the bus suddenly went through one of the dirt trails for the camp, God tested his resolve with every bump and shudder that was happening right on his lap. Yahweh have mercy…

The monster in him could not be quelled. Before Kyle could calm himself down, his hand was already creeping up under Eric’s t-shirt, his nails scraping along soft, unmarred skin along his side. It would be so easy to unzip himself, gently stir Eric awake, and encourage his mouth closer…

Eric’s breath suddenly hitched and those soft blue eyes fluttered open. “T-that tickles…” he smiled, then stilled from his position once it hit him. Blushing fiercely, he threw himself off so violently, he almost toppled backwards into the aisle if Kyle hadn’t grab him by the buckle and pull him back. “Sorry!” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean to fall on you!”

His apology made Kyle unreasonably angry, which Eric mistook for the wrong reasons and added, “I’ll stay on my own side, okay?”

“Whatever.” Because Kyle wasn’t much good at communicating about this shit, about how it pissed him off that Eric thought Kyle was ashamed of him, which was anything but. If Eric allowed it, Kyle would have fucked him right then and there for everyone to see.

His cravings kicking in, Kyle pulled the window down and started patting himself down for a cigarette, only for Eric to quickly offer one from his backpack. It was the exact kind of smoke he preferred - M150’s, no filter. “I didn’t know you started smoking,” Kyle said, somewhat amazed.

“I don’t,” Eric replied. “You were running out at the last stop.” In fact, he lifted up an entire carton of M150’s from his bag, which would at least keep Kyle steady for a couple nights.

Kyle leaned forward, plucked the cigarette up with his lips, then pulled it out to kiss Eric soundly on the mouth. A soft happy sound greeted him, even as Kyle added a bit of teeth into it. His gratitude was impalpable; they were going to camp out in one of Colorado’s dangerous forests and cigarettes steadied his resolve. “I could fuck you for this,” he whispered against Eric’s abused lips. “Taking care of me, hm?”

Those blue eyes were lit with something Kyle still couldn’t comprehend. “I love you,” Eric whispered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Thankfully, the bus came to a stop before Kyle could stare for too long. Not trusting himself the slightest, Kyle stuffed the smoke back into his mouth and literally climbed over Eric to get as far away from him as possible. It was too much. His blue eyes were just too much.

Bebe quickly saddled up next to him on his way down the aisle. “Hey, going my way?”

Kyle took a half-glance at her giant breasts generously popping out of her shirt, a scathing retort on his lips. But then he remembered that she shared a blood type with the McCormick’s - preferably Kenny’s sister, who was hospitalized and the second reason why Kenny wasn’t on this field trip. The first being he was dirt poor again of course.

Ignoring the crestfallen stare directed at his back, Kyle smiled at her and offered his arm. “After you.”


	2. Chapter 2: Hearth and Woods

Trent Boyett was the wimpiest piece of shit Kyle had ever met on the playground - possibly even second to Eric Cartman - but he made up for it with charisma. He had a small group of girls crowding up his steps every time he walked by which spoke a lot. Girls were vicious creatures by nature.

But Kyle was a Broflovski and he had notoriety and genetics on his side. He had no problems throwing himself into the fray, enduring the scratches or the bites just to get a good shot at his preschool nemesis. Stan was more bloodthirsty about it, doubly so when he went step-by-step against the new girl, Wendy Testaburger, who would become his future on-and-off girlfriend for practically the rest of his life.

And while Wendy screeched and thrashed as Stan mercilessly tried to rip her long dark hair right out of her scalp, Kenny couldn’t help but cheer them on the sidelines, too rich to get involved unless it benefited him personally.

Kyle ignored them all and simply focused on taking each and every opponent in front of him down. By the time he reached Trent Boyett, there were weeping girls all over the floor, some bleeding or straight up unconscious. Kyle never pulled his punches no matter who it was.

So it was pretty fucking messed up that Trent, so desperate not to get hit, practically screamed for help and, because he was fucking retarded, Eric Cartman had to run to the rescue and get between the two of them.

When Eric looked around at the carnage, his lip started to tremble. It made Kyle grip his safety scissors even harder. “What’s going on? Why are you all fighting?!”

“What does it look like, stupid?” Kyle growled at him. “I don’t have beef with you, so get lost Cartman!”

But Trent started up the waterworks and strengthened Eric’s resolve enough to open his arms and protect him from Kyle’s wrath. “It’s wrong! You have to stop hurting people!”

“I’m warning you!” Kyle warned. “If you don’t move in three, these scissors are going somewhere! Is it going to be in you or him?!”

Eric looked horrified. “Kyle-”

“One.”

Stan and Wendy abruptly stop in mid-wrestle. All of the focus seemed to be on Kyle and Eric now.

Trent howled in his crocodile tears and Eric was the only sucker for it. “No more!” he pleaded.

“Two.”

Butters joined Kenny in the spectacle this time, bloodlust evident in his eyes. “Heh-yeah! Kill ‘em, Kyle!”

_“If you hate him so much, just kill him.”_

And boy, did Kyle ever. Everything about Eric, from his sweet demeanor to his refusal to step on an ant, it just pissed him the fuck off. He was wrong, unnatural, and didn’t deserve to live when there were stronger, more ruthless people clawing for their lives this very moment.

Kyle got ready for this. His first kill was going to be Eric Cartman. He was going to do the entire town a favor.

Before Kyle could so much as utter the last number, Miss Claridge reappeared from the classroom and shouted, “Recess is over! Get back inside!”

Everyone visibly groaned as the bell rang along with her, their mini-purge stopped cold in its tracks. Stan sheepishly fished Wendy’s hat out from under the slide and was rewarded with a punch to the gut as she snatched it back and stomped away.

Trent smiled and slunked away like the snake he was, but Kyle and Eric were practically locked in a staring contest. Eric’s bottom lip trembled when Kyle turned away with a scowl, throwing the scissors as far as he could in the hopes of hitting some random bystander. Stan hung back to catch up, ruefully rubbing at his stomach.

“I’m going to marry her,” Stan decided.

“I can tell because you suck at fighting her,” Kyle said sharply. “It took you five minutes and you didn’t even win. You’re the worst lieutenant ever.”

Kenny quickly caught up to them to hear Stan explain himself away. “I fight fine! I pulled my punches!”

“That’s even worse!” Kyle snapped. “Why would you do that? She was in Boyett’s gang!”

“I don’t know!” Stan said in frustration. “I just… had to! I felt like it!”

Eyes lighting up, Kenny started muffling hard into his expensive silk parka. “She’s your one true bang!”

None of them knew what he meant so they spent the rest of the period bickering until naptime rolled around. Forming a tight circle to avoid any ambushes, they started tucking themselves in for the afternoon. As Kyle patted down his hypoallergenic pillow, he stilled as he sensed someone coming up from behind and abruptly tackled them to the floor. Eric squeaked and whined under him as Kyle desperately searched for his blankets for a weapon.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry you didn’t get to kill Trent Boyett!”

Kyle stopped rifling around and glared down at the boy. “Yeah, you said it three times already. But it’s not gonna stop me from killing _you_.”

Eric blinked up at him, his frown twisted at the declaration. “But I don’t want to die.”

“No one does.” He looked around, but everyone was pretty much fast asleep at this point. Deciding he had two perfectly good hands and a lot of ideas from watching violent Sesame Street episodes, Kyle ensnared as much of Eric’s thick throat with both hands as possibly can and squeezed.  

There was something oddly thrilling watching the large boy beneath him choke and cry. It was a lot of power for a young child to wield - the power of life and death. But after a good two minutes of strangling, Eric did nothing more than occasionally gasp in discomfort. He didn’t even change color like they did in the movies.

Kyle narrowed his eyes in confusion. “You’re not dead?”

Miss Claridge passed on through, curiously glanced at the two boys on the floor, and tutted at Kyle’s inexperience on her way to the break room. “A little higher.”

Kyle nodded and shifted his fingers up to strangle Eric to oblivion only to find those doe blue eyes gazing up at him with an aching sadness and resignation that caught him off guard completely. He was too used to seeing his parents’ victims die with scowls or a bitter smile in their last moments.

Eric was just sad and scared. Like he knew this was going to happen someday, but he still wasn’t ready for it. For some reason, Kyle couldn’t muster the resolve to apply any more pressure than discomfort and his grip started to slacken.

“Are…” Eric managed to sigh out. “Am I dying yet?”

“No,” Kyle replied, covering his weakness with a lie. “Don’t be stupid. I’m just practicing for Trent Boyett.” And, he didn’t want to admit this, but Eric was a pretty fucking comfortable cushion to sit on. “Killing you would be a waste of my time.” 

Those blue eyes flickered in relief and he could feel Eric relax under his grip. They stayed like this all through nap time, which felt far less than that.

* * *

After Kyle had worked a bit of his magic on Bebe to get her guard down, he retreated from the girl’s cabin to find Eric uncomfortably sitting near the campfire with Butters hanging over him and pointing out things on Eric’s clipboard. As Kyle fished his gun out of his jeans, Butters caught wind of his presence and backed off entirely, his hands up in the air.

“Hey, Kyle!” Butters said cheerfully. “Just keepin’ an eye on yer bitch an’ all!”

“I’m not a bitch,” Eric pouted. While Kyle thought Butters was pretty low on the totem pole of threatening, Eric was always strangely unnerved by the jovial Stotch kid.

Deciding that there was nothing to maim or kill for, Kyle raised an eyebrow and visibly tucked his gun inside the waistband of his jeans. “You _are_ a bitch,” he said sharply. “And you’re in my seat.” His belly coiled in pleasure as Eric flinched and hurriedly vacated the log, which made Butters snort. Kyle took over Eric’s place and gestured to the ground between his knees. “Sit.”

Eric’s nose wrinkled. “But it’s dirty!”

The second Kyle flashed his gun again, Eric made no more excuses and resigned himself on a spot right on the leftover ash and dirt of the campfire. He squeaked as Kyle suddenly grabbed him from behind and pulled him up until they were both snug on the log.

Kyle sat his chin on top of Eric’s sinfully soft hair and inhaled shampoo and the thin fog of the woods that wafted by. It didn’t calm him, but he was less alert than usual and he relaxed the moment Eric started to relax in his arms.

“This is nice,” Eric sighed happily.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Kyle said grumpily, his eyes shifting over at Butters like a wary predator - just daring him to come close. “Why were you hovering over him?” The demand was sharp and it made Butters pleasantly scowl.

“No need to act like I pissed yer cereal,” Butters laughed. “Your toy’s trying to turn this trip into a donation drive.”

Eric suddenly stiffened and shifted uncomfortably between his legs.

Oh, god dammit.

Kyle snatched the stupid clipboard out of Eric’s protesting fingers and examined the sticker covered abomination.

_Donations and Blessings for Karen McCormick._

His nose wrinkled and almost tossed it into the smoky fire pit. Eric caught it just in time. “No one cares about that.”

Butters sat eagerly next to them. “Yeah! That’s what I said! The bitch is weak - it’s survival of the fittest, Cartman!”

Eric stared up at Kyle, his brow furrowed and those eyes flashing in accusation. “You care,” he stressed desperately. “I know you do, Kyle! Why else are you- mfh!”

Kyle had slapped a hand over his mouth, his fingers threatening to push past those lips and gag him for his insolence. But the second Eric gave in and let those digits slide over his tongue, Kyle’s cock twitched, forcing him to pull them out and shake the saliva away like it meant nothing to him. “You’re so gross.” His words came out in a rough purr. He didn’t mean to do that. “You’ll stick anything down your throat, wouldn’t you?”

The sudden blush on Eric’s face went straight to his hairline, while Kyle’s mind went straight off the gutter into a dive down Mariana’s Trench. He thought of Eric on his knees, his mouth open and eager…

...this was not going to be a pleasant trip.

From behind, a twig snapped in half. Both Butters and Kyle had their guns out and pointed at Craig, who blandly raised his hands in surrender. Butters snickered and lowered his weapon, but Kyle kept the barrel firmly trained between those eyes.

“I’m not armed,” Craig said.

Kyle’s lips slowly raised into a vicious smile. “Big mistake.”

Eric took his forearm and tried to lower it down. “It’s not a fair fight, Kyle!”

“Shut up!” Both Kyle and Butters said in unison.

Craig rolled his eyes, which horrified Kyle, since the teen was usually so blase about everything and nothing. His paranoia reached to critical as Craig focused in on Eric alone. “Tweek’s offering some cash for Kenny’s sister.”

Eyes widening, Eric hastily managed to lower Kyle’s firearm down. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Flicking his cigarette aside, he made a show about pulling a wad of cash out of his jeans and offered it, still in the line of fire. Butters sighed in disappointment and holstered his gun.

“Well shucks, I thought this was gonna be fun,” he whined and shuffled back for one of the cabins. “Y’all are so boring.”

Eric took the offered cash and gave Craig a genuine smile which lit up the dreary Colorado fog that was now collecting above their ankles. “I really appreciate it, Craig!”

Craig just shrugged and walked off. Kyle continued to stare at his retreating back like it was a calculus problem that doubled as a trick question. After a beat, he yanked the money out of Eric’s hands.

“Kyle!”

“It’s dirty money, stupid,” he replied. “Accept this and you owe that bastard something.” Fishing out an unlit cigarette and his phone, Kyle irritatingly stuffed it between his lips while transferring funds on his app. “There. Happy?”

As he walked away, Kyle smirked around his cigarette as Eric's phone beeped and sputtered indignantly at the four-digit funds that was now sitting in his bank account.

Why was Tweek so interested in Eric’s charity? The thought plagued him all night, which was probably what Tweek wanted in the first place.


End file.
